


Three Assholes And Some Mistletoe

by stevergrsno (noxlunate)



Series: Happy Steve Bingo Fills [19]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Happy Steve Bingo, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Mistletoe, Past James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter - Freeform, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 08:31:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16594442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/stevergrsno
Summary: Bucky’s not sure what possesses Sam fucking Wilson to look at him and Steve on Christmas Eve eve and say “You two are coming to my place for Christmas. Don’t argue.”He’s also not sure what possesses him to respond with “Sure, what should we bring?” but he’s pretty sure it has something to do with the brain damage. That can be the only reason.In which Christmas happens, mistletoe is used, and Steve, Bucky, and Sam becomeSteve, Bucky, and Sam.





	Three Assholes And Some Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Behold, ANOTHER poly fic, this time with Bucky/Sam/Steve! Also this one is keeping it's WIP name because tbh it's incredibly fitting. 
> 
> Written to fill the "Christmas" square on my Happy Steve Bingo.

Bucky’s not sure what possesses Sam fucking Wilson to look at him and Steve on Christmas Eve eve and say “You two are coming to my place for Christmas. Don’t argue.”

He’s also not sure what possesses him to respond with “Sure, what should we bring?” but he’s pretty sure it has something to do with the brain damage. That can be the only reason.

He doesn’t even give himself the ability to blame it on Steve.

 _Goddammit_.

 

“This is your fault Rogers,” Bucky says later, when he’s working a pastry cutter through the flour mix and butter that will make up his ma’s pie crust. He can still practically hear her voice guiding him and his sisters (and later, once he’d come along, Steve) through it, insisting that the key was to keep everything cold.

“I’m not the one who told Sam we’d be there,” Steve points out, using logic and reason against Bucky in a way Bucky would really prefer he didn’t while he’s trying to stress bake six pies to impress Mrs. Wilson.

“You’re always wanting me to be nice to him,” Bucky says like that’s the reason he’d agreed instead of his mouth just straight up working without his permission when faced with Sam goddamn Wilson.

Steve very clearly isn’t fooled by his bullshit, but he also has that stupid fond look on his face that means he’s enjoying it too much to even make an attempt at getting Bucky to stop.

“I’d never,” Steve says, and there’s a look of such innocence on his face that Bucky dreads whatever’s about to come out of his mouth next, “Why would I want to ruin the entertainment that your weird flirting gives me? I’m an old man, entertainment’s all I have.”

Bucky splutters, his metal hand ramming the pastry cutter into the bowl so hard it crumples as easily as an aluminum can.

“I’m not- I wouldn’t do that to you Steve- _Jesus.”_ He _wouldn’t._ Steve’s enough. _God_. Steve’s gotta know he’s more than enough _._

“Hey, Buck, c’mon,” Steve seems to be aiming for soothing, suddenly in Bucky’s space, catching his hands and pulling them away from their brutal grip on the bowl and pastry cutter, “Would I be joking about it if I was bothered by it?”

Bucky stares at Steve, letting him feel the full weight of his disbelief and judgement.

Steve at least has the decency to look properly shamefaced, glancing down and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Okay, I probably would, but I’m not. I love you, you love me, you just also love pulling Sam’s pigtails like you’re in grade school.”

“Wilson and I aren’t _pulling each other’s pigtails.”_ He very politely doesn’t point out that if anyone pulled Sam’s pigtails first it was _Steve._ He’s heard the ‘on your left’ story and if anyone’s wise to Steve’s methods of hitting on people it’s Bucky. He’s not fooled no matter what Steve might claim.

“You are. Have been for _years._ It’s worse than you and Peg were even.”  

“Marge and I didn’t pull each other’s pigtails Rogers.”

They _didn’t._ Peg and Bucky had had what Bucky liked to refer to as a mutual understanding. The understanding being they both loved Steve and Steve had a heart big enough to love the both of them so they ought to buck up and deal with each other like rational adults instead of jealous, squabbling idiots.

If that mutual understanding lead to some very enjoyable times for all, and if Bucky happened to end up adoring Peggy by the end (or somewhere near the beginning if he’s honest), well, that was just a bonus.

“You did,” Steve argues, because he’s _Steve_ so of course he does, “You also made fun of me endlessly. It was terrible.”

“Maybe you shoulda been harder to make fun of then.”

 

They don’t talk about it again after that. Not because Bucky’s avoiding the conversation, but more because Bucky gets lost in a goddamn whirlwind of baking and Steve in a whirlwind of present wrapping and then it’s suddenly 11 am Christmas morning and they’re enveloped in the Wilson home in Harlem, enjoying the Christmas cheer of Sam’s frankly humongous family.

Bucky’s own family had been pretty big, but it was nothing compared to the Wilson brood. He’s honestly given up on keeping track of all the various aunts, uncles, and cousins since the first Wilson family event he’d been suckered into going to with Steve. There’s just too many of them.

Steve’s spent the past hour with the sort of look on his face that means he’s come to a decision, he’s going to follow through with whatever that decision is, and Bucky has no chance of changing his mind about whatever it is.

Sometimes, like now, he questions his younger self’s decision to befriend a stubborn shitheaded punk and then go ahead and start fucking that shitheaded punk.

Usually that line of thought is ended pretty quickly though, especially when his shitheaded punk corners him under the misteltoe and proceeds to kiss him senseless.

“There’s people here. We’re going to scar the children.” Bucky says and makes no move to stop Steve. In fact, his hands have found their way around to Steve’s back where they’ve curled into Steve’s stupid reindeer sweater. It’s too small and _hideous_ and Bucky has no idea how he finds Steve in any way attractive while wearing it, and yet he absolutely does.  

“Please, we’re the least of anyone’s worry. Have you _seen_ Sierra and Erin? They haven’t even needed the mistletoe as an excuse”

Bucky blinks, his gaze swiveling to where Sierra seems to be making a valiant effort to shove her tongue down her wife’s throat. Bucky’s a little impressed by just how efficiently the Wilson family seems to be ignoring it.

At least everyone but Sam, who has appeared seemingly out of nowhere next to Steve and Bucky. “Let’s add that to things that do the exact opposite of making my Christmas merry.”

“I’ll show you a merry Christmas, Wilson.” Bucky says before he can think better of it. Steve, because he’s an _asshole,_ drops his head so that he can hide a laugh in Bucky’s shoulder. “I hate you.”

“Do not.” Steve insists, his stupid laughing face still hidden in Bucky’s own ridiculous Hanukkah sweater.

“Do too. This is all your fault.”

“O-ookay, you two wanna share what’s Steve’s fault with the class?” Sam’s got his ‘Completely Unimpressed By These Idiot White Boys’ face on and Bucky would be a big fat liar if he didn’t at least admit to himself he liked it. He also has the urge to be an asshole and make it worse, but he’s never claimed that his wants and desires make any sense.

“Nope.” Bucky says immediately.

“It’s up to Bucky.” Steve says at the same time.

“Yeah, I’m not even touching this one.” Sam says with a shake of his head, “There’s too much food I could be eating instead.”

 

Too much food turns out to be absolutely correct. Bucky has in the last few years been dragged along as Steve’s plus one to his fair share of Wilson family events. Between Sierra’s wedding, Fourth Of July, Labor Day, two baby showers, and three different birthday parties, he’s learned that these people cook a frankly obscene amount of food.

Which is good. Because Steve and Bucky can eat about as much as a highschool football team between the two of them _._

And they _do_ , falling upon the feast right along with the rest of the Wilson family.

“I never know whether to be impressed or disgusted.” Sam says at the sight of Steve and Bucky’s plates, piled almost comically high with food.

“Impressed,” Steve says around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“Disgusted,” Bucky says at the same time, shoving a deviled egg into his mouth and chewing with his mouth open purely to annoy Sam.

 

As the Wilson Christmas Festivities start to wind down Sam, Steve and Bucky take their leave for the annual Team Cap Christmas Night Festivities. Which aren’t so much _festivities_ as they are Natasha and Clint coming over with a stack of pizzas and all of them watching shitty Christmas movies squished onto Steve and Bucky’s couch.

Scott has a standing invite, but he usually makes the perfectly reasonable choice to spend his Christmas in San Francisco where it’s not cold as hell and he can spend it with his actual family. Wanda has one too, though she only shows up occasionally. Most years it’s like it is now, just the five of them- Sam, Steve, Bucky, Natasha, and Clint, eating pizza and drinking beer and ending up passed out in Steve and Bucky’s apartment.

It’s a good tradition, one that’s been sustained over the years, even after bridges were mended and they all got regular invites to the Stark Holiday Extravaganza.

Eventually, just like always, Natasha drags Clint to their guest room to do… whatever it is they do. Bucky’s never figured out the exact nature of their relationship, but judging by the evidence it mostly involves a lot of Natasha curling up on top of Clint like an overgrown alley cat and Clint just sort of taking it.

It takes barely five minutes for Steve to get that damn expression on his face again.

“What the hell is he up to?” Sam asks when Steve disappears into the kitchen, claiming to be ‘cleaning up.’ Which is ridiculous. Steve doesn’t _clean._ Steve thinks that the invention of a dishwasher means he can put plates straight in without even _rinsing_ them.

“Your guess is as good as mine, but I bet we’ll find out soon. He’s been wearing that face all day.”

And then, like Steve’s explanation has been summoned, Steve is leaning over them over the couch, dangling something over all three of their heads. Something green and leafy and wrapped in a red ribbon.

“...Is that fucking mistletoe Rogers?”

“Oh hell no, I am not being part of your old man experimental threesome shit. I don’t care if your relationship is getting stale and you need to shake things up.” Sam says, though he doesn’t sound offended, not exactly. He sounds a lot more like he just finds Steve and Bucky to be perpetually exhausting. Which to be honest, Bucky thinks is perfectly understandable. Bucky’s been exhausted by Steve Rogers since the 20s.

“Our relationship isn’t _stale.”_ Bucky insists, reaching up to snatch the mistletoe from Steve. Steve, the wily bastard, dodges and holds it just out of where Bucky can reach without moving from his comfortable spot on the couch. Bucky debates moving just to prove he _can_ but somewhere through the course of the evening Sam’s legs have ended up across his lap and he’s _comfortable._

“And we’ve already done the experimental threesome thing,” Steve says, wagging the mistletoe at the both of them.

“Oh, so this is just how you seduce people for _non_ experimental threesomes then?” Sam asks.

“It’s working isn’t it?” Steve has not one ounce of shame, still wearing his goddamn determined face, and it shouldn’t be one of those things that remind Bucky just why he loves this giant idiot, but it is.

“Lord in heaven,” Sam mutters, rubbing at his temples, and then, “It is.”

Because of course it is. _Of course_ it’s working. Steve’s always had the ridiculous luck of getting to have his cake and eat it too. He’d wanted to fight in the war, he’d gotten a scientist to make it possible. He’d wanted to rescue Bucky from certain death, he’d gone right ahead and done it. Breaking decades of brainwashing through sheer stubbornness? Steve had sure as shit made it happen.

“Well then,” Steve says, waving the mistletoe above Sam and Bucky pointedly.

Bucky heaves a huge, put upon sigh and brings a hand up to cup Sam’s jaw, “I guess if I _have to.”_

“Oh yeah, cause making out with a greasy white boy is just what I’ve been dreaming of.” Sam says, his sarcasm as fake as it’s ever been. Because here’s the thing, Bucky’s known this asshole for years now, long enough that he and Steve were welcomed to the _Wilson Family Christmas,_ long enough that he can damn well tell when Wilson is faking it and has in fact been dreaming of making out with _this_ greasy white boy.

He could argue it. He could probably even get a good twenty minutes of pretty enjoyable bickering out of this fight to be entirely honest. Or he can do exactly what he’s just now deciding to do, which is to say “Shut the hell up Wilson,” and pull him in for a kiss.

It’s good. It’s different than kissing Steve, because _of course_ it’s different than Steve, but it’s good, even if it feels strangely anticlimactic.

Ant then Sam shifts, shoving Bucky back like he’s not the super soldier in this situation. It’s hard, and fast, and more than a little demanding after that, proving Bucky’s thoughts on it being anticlimactic so incredibly wrong it’s fucking ridiculous. _Jesus._ When it’s over, when Sam pulls away it’s with a look on his face that’s more than a little smug. Bucky wants to punch it. With his _mouth._

Steve’s looking at them with that _look,_ the one that Bucky remembers from the fucking war, the one he’d get when Peggy would press a kiss to Bucky’s cheek before a mission or Bucky would whisk Peg into his arms and swing her around the dance floor. Like he’s fucking _happy_ to see Bucky fucking around with someone else.

Bucky’d thought that shit would have changed with the end of the war and being frozen like a particularly patriotic popsicle, but apparently it didn’t. Apparently Steve Rogers still has a few screws loose that mean he’s happy to watch Bucky make out with someone that’s not him.

Bucky’s never quite understood, not entirely, but he definitely understands the fact that he still gets that same little rush he used to get when Steve would look at him and Peg like it was the best thing ever watching the two people he loved loving on each other. In general, if a boneheaded idea makes Steve look at Bucky like that it’s damn well worth it. Most things that make Steve happy are.

Plus it’s not like being with Wilson would exactly be a hardship. He wouldn’t have spent the past few years flirting with the asshole if it was.

“We have a bedroom,” Steve says like it’s some huge revelation he’s letting Bucky and Sam in on.

“Do you now?” Sam asks, like he hadn’t had a damn clue, “Here I thought you curled up in that shield like a cat while Barnes hung from the ceiling like a vampire.”

“You’re an idiot.” Bucky says, though he doubts it has nearly as much impact when he’s just had Wilson’s tongue down his throat.

“Well I’m about to get my dick involved in a whole lot of crazy so you’re probably right. This is gonna be a goddamn mess.” Sam has the sort of resignation that comes with knowing one is about to make a stupid ass decision but they’re definitely going to go full steam ahead and do it anyway with the hope that it turns out good. Goddamn, no wonder Bucky is into him, he’s just a Steve who knows how to pretend he can handle his life slightly better.

 

“Well that was-” Sam says two hours later, stretching across Steve and Bucky’s bed much like a very satisfied cat in a sunbeam.

Or maybe Bucky’s the cat, satisfaction and afterglow and Steve’s smile making up the sunbeam.

“Athletic? Mind blowing? Proof that I’m in the goddamn right every time I say Steve’s a demanding shit and no one believes me because of his whole aw shucks Captain America act?”

“I was gonna go with fun, but sure.” Sam says, his fingers sinking into Bucky’s hair. Bucky has a sudden and visceral urge to butt into it like a needy housecat, but then Sam goes and ruins the afterglow by asking “So what exactly are we doing here?”

“If you don’t know what we just did then I don’t think we’re qualified to explain it to you.” Bucky says, giving into the urge to shove his hand into Sam’s hand just a little bit until he gets the hint and starts to card his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

“We can’t just go with the flow?” Steve asks and Bucky resists the urge to snort at the idea of Steve Rogers just _going with the flow._

“Sure we can, but Steve, man, I don’t know how this shit worked when you were a youth back before Pangea separated to form continents but in this day and age this kind of shit requires communication.” Sam says and this time Bucky _does_ snort.

Never let it be said that Steve isn’t one to put his cards on the table at the first chance, because he gets that familiar Steve Rogers look on his face, somehow squaring his shoulders a ridiculous amount while still lounging in bed, the same sort of serious expression on his face he’d used when saying ‘I love you’ the first time.

(It’s a face Bucky has seen many, _many_ other times in his life, but one of the first memories he got back was Steve, seventeen and stubborn, telling Bucky he loved him like he expected a fist for an answer. For a brief, fleeting moment Bucky had considered it, the fear that Steve had _noticed,_ had figured him out bubbling up until he’d caught up, realized this was classic fucking Steve, barreling forward and saying something not because he knew what Bucky’s answer would be, but because he had to.)

“Well, preferably, we’d make a go of it. The three of us. If you and Bucky want, that is.” Steve says, and the serious, determined, prepared to take a hit look fades quickly after the words have left Steve’s mouth, his eyes darting to the side like maybe he’s contemplating disappearing out the window just in case the answer that comes isn’t one he wants. He doesn't. Of course he doesn’t. Because Steve’s never run from jack shit, even at times when Bucky thinks the asshole _should._

Bucky reaches out and pinches Steve’s thigh just to watch Steve’s eyes crinkle into something pleased when his gaze fixes on Bucky, “You know me sweetheart. In for a penny, in for a pound.”

 

“So. All three of us. In a relationship?” Sam clarifies, and Bucky gets the feeling it’s less skepticism and more a need for confirmation that he’s hearing Steve right.

“It’s a thing,” Steve says, and then because he’s a giant fucking nerd who Bucky’s stupidly in love with, “I read up about it. People do it.”

And Steve _had_ read about it. A good three years ago. He’d sprawled across their bed, pecking away at his tablet with a pointer finger and reading things off to Bucky about polyamory. Bucky’d assumed at the time it was just one of their usual Learning About The Future things, but of course Steve had read it and shoved it all into his head to be used later.

Steve had discovered powerpoint presentations a year or two ago and Bucky honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out his laptop to present Sam and Bucky with a 12 slide argument on Why This Will Absolutely Work.

“I don’t know… Might ruin the friendship. Sure it’s worth it?” Despite his words Sam’s got a smile that’s lighting up his face, the sort of thing that says _‘I’m fucking with you’_ but also ‘ _yes, yes it’s worth it.’_

“We already slept together, can’t ruin it more.” Steve says, a smile on his face to match the one Sam’s wearing.

“Fuck you, we’re worth it. We’re a goddamn catch.” Bucky says at the same time. Sure, he might not agree with himself in a couple days because being a former brainwashed assasin kind of fucks up the self esteem sometimes, but right then, tangled up in bed with Sam and Steve, it’s an easy sort of thing to believe.

And it’s been fun before this, the sort of thing that Bucky thinks he could hold at arm’s distance if he really has to, but then Sam’s face does something that makes him look _soft_ as he agrees, “Yeah, you two are,” and any possibility of this being _just_ _a thing_ evaporates.

 

Later, when Sam has passed out drooling on one of Bucky’s pillows instead of retreating to the bed in Steve’s studio like he would any other Christmas, Steve finds Bucky eating Mrs. Wilson’s mac and cheese straight out of a tupperware container.

Sam snores like a goddamn chainsaw and Bucky can hear the sound drifting in from the bedroom as Steve attaches himself to Bucky’s back, arms twisted around Bucky’s waist and a kiss pressed into his shoulder.

“Good Christmas?” Bucky asks, stabbing at noodles and then bringing up the fork so that Steve can take a bite. It a sign of true love that Bucky’s willing to share Mrs. Wilson’s mac and cheese, Bucky’s sure of it.

“Mmmh, the best.” The words are a little garbled around the food, but easy enough to understand, especially when paired with the solid squeeze to Bucky’s middle and the press of a nose into the side of his neck.

“Good,” Bucky murmurs, “But if next Christmas involves turning this into a foursome we’re having a discussion.”

“I make no promises,” Steve jokes and Bucky rolls his eyes at him, hoping Steve can _feel it_ even with his face still hidden.

Moments later Sam stumbles into the kitchen, yawning huge and scratching absently at his stomach.

“Hey asshole, share some of that.” Sam says, voice still thick with sleep as he makes grabby hands at the mac and cheese in Bucky’s hand. Bucky considers attempting to shove all of it straight into his mouth in an attempt to store it in his cheeks like a chipmunk so that no one can steal it from him.

Instead he holds it closer to his chest and narrows his eyes, trying to make his “No,” sound as firm and unyielding as possible.

Over Bucky’s shoulder Steve and Sam catch each other’s eyes and then commit what is certainly a case of _treason_ when all at once Sam kisses Bucky, Steve snags the container out of Bucky’s hand and holds it into the air so that Sam can grab it while Bucky’s distracted.

Bucky makes an outraged noise as Sam steps back and very smugly takes a bite of _Bucky’s_ food.

“This is a gross violation of the new perks of this relationship.”

“Get used to it.” Sam says and shoves a forkful of food into Bucky’s mouth to keep him from responding.

Yeah, Bucky thinks, watching as Steve tugs Sam in for a kiss, the lights in their window casting them in a multicolored glow and Steve’s smile too big to make a proper go of it, he can probably get used to this.  

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to come yell with me about super soldiers in love, come check out my [tumblr!](http://stevergrsno.tumblr.com/tagged/my-writing)


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